


do ya come here often??

by foxkillskat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Post-Time Skip, SakuAtsu, dog park date??, implied mental health issues, this is truly just omi and atsumu makin each other smile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxkillskat/pseuds/foxkillskat
Summary: Some days are harder than others.  Today is one of those days for Miya Atsumu.—Some days are easier than others.  Today is one of those days for Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	do ya come here often??

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall, foxkillskat here thinkin bout the days where everythin is a bit too much: hard or easy 
> 
> on days like this, take a break as best ya can and find someone, anyone who can help ya win against it all
> 
> even when its a lot, make sure to enjoy the mess!!

Some days are harder than others.

Some days all Atsumu can think about are his mistakes. About how he dropped and broke not one but two mugs this morning — his favorite ones, too. About how his sets were inconsistent all practice long. About how he has missed calls from three different people on his phone and he can’t find the focus or energy to return any of them. If he had remembered to turn off silent mode after leaving practice, he could have forced himself to answer them as they arrived. It’s always easier that way: to do the right thing in the moment. An hour later, not so much.

He drops his phone and rolls over, pressing his face into the cool leather of his couch. It shouldn’t feel this nice, this refreshing, but it does. Does he have a fever? Atsumu peels his skin off the leather and presses the back of his hand to his forehead. No. He’s fine physically. 

Days like this play tricks on him. Tricks like the pounding noise at the back of his head, almost like someone knocking on his skull. A muffled voice, too, in the depths of his brain, chanting his surname, demanding he open the door. Atsumu rolls onto his back and the noise persists. In fact, it grows louder now that one ear isn’t buried in the couch. Someone is here. Atsumu considers continuing to pretend they aren’t, except that someone is Sakusa and Sakusa is not someone to be ignored.

By the time he finally drags himself to the door and opens up, he finds Sakusa with one bobby pin in hand and another in the lock.

“Were ya tryin’ to break into my house?” Atsumu pulls the pin out of the lock and holds it up.

Sakusa snatches it away and shoves both in his pocket. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Atsumu would narrow his eyes if he had the energy. “Why are ya here?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Sakusa crosses his arms, indignant.

“And you didn’t answer any of mine.” Atsumu leans against the door frame in a slump. “I already got enough of ya tellin’ me I suck today; I’ll take a rain check on whatever it is ya came here to gripe ‘bout.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Sakusa showed up at his door to berate him, like the quarreling they do at practice somehow isn’t enough to sate him. Not that Atsumu minds. These ‘unplanned’ hang outs always start with them taking cracks at each other over tea before moving to the couch where the sports reporters on TV serve as background noise to their debates. And when they get bored of it all, sometimes they walk down to a nearby restaurant for takeaway. It’s shifted slowly from a rare occasion to a regular thing, bothering each other until their energy is spent every other day of the week. Usually, Atsumu has plenty to spare. Not today.

Atsumu slumps a little further, eyeing Sakusa in his silence. He could swear Sakusa’s smiling beneath his stupid mask, his eyes doing the little crinkle thing they do whenever he finds something funny. None of this is funny. Not today.

“Same fer ya laughin’ at me.” Atsumu sighs.

“I’m not.” Sakusa blinks and the crinkles are gone. “Are you okay, Miya?”

Atsumu doesn’t know how to answer that. People ask him questions all the time, things like, “will you bring me some of those takoyaki chips when you come visit?” (his mom) or “did you remember to take your medication?” (‘Samu) or “are you still coming to the party this weekend?” (Akagi). Sakusa asks him questions all the time, too, usually along the lines of, “are you actually trying?” or “what the hell are you even talking about?” No one ever asks him if he’s okay, except maybe Kita all the way back in high school when he came to morning practice with bags under his eyes after pulling an all-nighter. He’s Miya Atsumu: star setter of MSBY, volleyball’s most eligible bachelor, eighty kilograms of pure, perfect muscle everyone wants a piece of — of course he’s okay. Of course he’s not getting worked up over a simple question.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sakusa says, and it registers with Atsumu he’s been standing there with his mouth open for at least a minute.

Embarrassment hits him like an enormous boulder falling from the sky. If not for his perfectly muscular arm holding tight to the door frame, it would have him doubling over.

“Hey,” Sakusa interrupts his groaning, “come with me.”

“Huh?” Atsumu momentarily forgets about sinking to his knees. “Where?”

“You’ll find out.” Sakusa zips his jacket up to his chin and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Put some shoes on. Let’s go.”

Atsumu doesn’t feel like confining his feet to shoes. He doesn’t feel like leaving the comfort of his house either, and he’s already regretting the decision to abandon his couch. Even more than all that, he doesn’t feel like arguing with Sakusa. Not today.

They walk down street after street, side by side. Their elbows even brush a few times, but that might be another trick of the day. Still, it’s weird. Usually when they go somewhere, Sakusa walks ahead, rushing to get from one place to another like he’s perpetually late. In the entire time Atsumu has known him, Sakusa has always been early. It’s even started to rub off on him, like Sakusa is yanking Atsumu along with him everywhere they go, determined and persistent no matter how Atsumu resists. Sakusa tugs lightly on the elbow of his hoodie as they reach a park, steering him down a path shielded by trees. Atsumu lets himself be directed; he doesn’t fuss. Not today.

Those fingers don’t leave his elbow. They lead him all the way to a bench facing a fenced-in field. Inside the enclosure, a herd of dogs chase after a border collie with a bright red ball in its mouth. 

“Dog park?” Atsumu squints as Sakusa takes a seat. 

“No, a cat cafe.” Sakusa pulls lightly on him, dragging him down. “Yes, you idiot. Dog park.”

Atsumu sits, leg not quite pressed to Sakusa’s, but close enough to feel his warmth. Sakusa keeps the elbow of Atsumu’s hoodie pinched between his fingers as he watches the happenings of the park. Atsumu watches him instead. The little crinkles have returned, digging into the edges of dark circles at the corners of his eyes. He’s riveted, absolutely delighted by the scene, and if Atsumu were to unhook that mask from his ears, he would be sure to find one of those rare Sakusa smiles. 

His fingers twitch for it. “Why?”

“Why not?” Even happy, Sakusa is as obstinate as ever.

Normally Atsumu likes the challenge. Not today.

“Ya dragged me all the way out here” —he shifts on the hard bench, missing his couch— “the least ya can do is tell me why.”

Sakusa’s eyes flash to him for a quick moment before returning to the dogs. “Just watch.”

Spite gives Atsumu just enough pluck to huff and yank his arm free. Sakusa’s brows slide together as his hand returns to the safety of his pocket, but he refuses to concede.

“Fine,” Atsumu grumbles, “I’ll watch the stupid dogs.”

There’s nothing special about this. It’s the same as every other dog park: a bunch of dogs running wild in a field full of their own mess while their owners stand around staring at their phone screens, bored. Sakusa and Atsumu are probably the only people here actually looking at the dogs. Whatever. The border collie from earlier seems to have lost the ball to a golden retriever, who’s bounding past all the other dogs like it’s easy. Atsumu watches it run to the top of a small hill and stop, coat gleaming in the last of the sun’s rays, the star of the show. If he were a dog, that’s what he would want to be: a shiny, happy golden retriever with not a single thought in its head besides balls. Atsumu lets out a tiny snort. Maybe they’re more alike than he thought.

While he and the dog aren’t paying attention, a giant beast of an akita swoops in and steals the ball right from the golden’s mouth. Atsumu almost cries out in indignation. Before he has a chance, a poodle with curly black fur cuts off the akita, nearly twice its size, and attaches itself to its neck. Suddenly, owners are paying attention, yelling at the two dogs and frantically trying to separate them. In the chaos of the scuffle, the ball is dropped. The golden emerges victorious, ball in mouth as it makes a break for the park exit where its owner waits. Atsumu laughs when the poodle, dodging all attempts to be leashed, catches up to the golden at the gate. Both dogs wag their tails at each other and the golden gives up the ball to its friend right as the gate is about to close.

“Did ya see that, Omi-kun?” Atsumu nudges Sakusa with his elbow. “That poodle’s a sneaky little bastard. Kinda like you.”

Sakusa gives his signature ‘heh.’

When the golden is out of sight and the poodle is finally leashed, ball in mouth, Atsumu tears his attention away to find Sakusa staring at him.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I got somethin’ on my face?”

“A smile.” Sakusa’s eyes crinkle and Atsumu’s face feels hot again.

Maybe he does have a fever. He’s coming down with something, that’s for sure. 

“So, do ya come here often?” he changes the subject and Sakusa makes a noise that sounds exactly like a laugh. A real one. 

Atsumu squints. “What’s so funny?”

Sakusa only laughs harder, mask crinkling.

The burn hits Atsumu’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that—” 

“I know what you meant.” Sakusa pulls himself together and leans back on the bench, stretching his freakishly long legs out in front of him. “Usually once or twice a week.”

“But ya don’t even have a dog.”

“Exactly.” Sakusa returns from his stretch, closer than before.

Not close enough. Their thighs brush lightly in the erased space, and the slight touch is all it takes to have Atsumu’s leg warm and his face warmer. In fact, Atsumu is pretty sure there’s a fire burning somewhere within him. That’s the only explanation. But can someone as cold as Kiyoomi even start a fire? 

Kiyoomi, huh? That’s something new.

“Atsumu?”

“Huh?” he jolts from his thoughts. 

“I—”

“Hey!” A shit-eating grin spreads across Atsumu’s face. “Ya called me Atsumu.”

“Well” —Kiyoomi’s eyes slide back to the field— “that is your name, is it not?”

He’s not truly watching. That much is clear by the way his fingers shift in his pocket, moving around impatiently like they need something to hold on to. 

Atsumu needs it, too, but he stops his reach at the last moment, clasping his hands in his lap for safe keeping. “Omi-kun?”

“Yes?” Kiyoomi stares at the dogs.

“Are ya playin’ some sorta trick on me?”

Black brows come together as blacker eyes latch onto him. “What?” The single word is filled with venom.

Atsumu’s made another mistake. He doubles down anyways, mugs all over again. “Yer not the type to try and make anyone feel better.”

Kiyoomi’s not the type to care, and yet he winces at the words.

“At least I didn’t think ya were.” Atsumu shifts a little closer, leg pressed solidly against Kiyoomi’s.

Close enough and closer still, Kiyoomi doesn’t shift away. He doesn’t crack, either; break into pieces so sharp they slice Atsumu’s skin.

All he does is soften with a gentle hum. “You’re not anyone.”

And neither is Kiyoomi. Not today.

In the moment, Atsumu knows what the right thing is to do. Easily, he lowers his head until it rests on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. It’s hard, harder than others, nothing but rigid muscle and bone to be found beneath taut flesh. But his track jacket is cool and silky against Atsumu’s skin as he buries his face in it.

“S’this okay?” he thinks to ask far too late.

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, but his pulse echoes in the depths of Atsumu’s brain. He shifts slightly, hand leaving hidden home to find rest atop Atsumu’s thigh, melting into his skin. 

Warm. Warmer than Atsumu could have ever imagined. And even though he broke the two mugs they always drink their tea from and his sets were all wonky and he’s gonna have to listen to his mom and ‘Samu and Akagi complain about him not answering his phone, it all seems a little easier than before. Atsumu gives his worry over to the fire, feeding the steady flame and adding to their shared warmth.

Some days are harder than others, but that doesn’t mean they can’t get better. And with not someone, not anyone but Kiyoomi by his side, he’s not going to let it win. 

Not today.

**Author's Note:**

> hope to have pt 2 up within the week... had it all ready to go and then my dumb self overwrote it by accident and lost the whole got dang thing so now i get the pleasure of rewritin it even better fer yall 😅


End file.
